


"I love you a shit ton, but please stop trying to make me dinner, you suck."

by didsomeonesaybioshock



Series: Various One-Shots from Multiple Fandoms [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Bad Cooking, Banter, Cooking, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Teen Romance, Vault 101, burning food, but the next one may not be as forgiving, i kept this one PG, i know they probably didn't have chef boyardee in the fallout universe but just humor me ok, i mean they are like 17 so older teens i guess, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6843184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/didsomeonesaybioshock/pseuds/didsomeonesaybioshock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moira attempts to cook for Butch. Hey, at least she tried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I love you a shit ton, but please stop trying to make me dinner, you suck."

            The dingy florescent lights flickered on and illuminated the barren diner as Butch strode through the vast doorway, Moira trailing closely behind with a small brown box tucked tightly under her arm. Her black combat boots padded lightly across the tainted checkered tile as she danced around the red-upholstered booths that lined the center of the cafeteria. Butch slid into one of the barstools facing the counter as she settled in behind the bar, setting the container on the metal top and rifling through the contents. One by one she revealed a few bags of whole grained rice, soy sauce, various colors of vegetables and two tall bottles of purified water.

            “I still can’t believe you dropped ten fuckin’ caps on all this crap,” the Tunnel Snake shimmied out of his character leather jacket and draped it across the stool next to him, leaning over the bar slightly. “It ain’t even cooked yet.”

            “That’s the point, you brute,” Moira moved to the steel oven top and flipped on two of the burners, bending beneath the counter to retrieve two large iron skillets. “Only you would complain about your girlfriend cooking for you.”

            “Hey, I ain’t complainin.’ I’s just sayin’ that’s a lot of caps to drop on a guy.”

            “Yeah, well, maybe you’re worth it.” She shot back with a sly wink, uncorking the glass bottle of water and draining the liquid carefully into the saucepan. She set the appliance atop the front burner and starting to work at the small capsule of peanut oil.

            “You’re just sayin’ that cause you want some of the Butch-man,” He wagged his eyebrows with a wolfish grin.

            “You’re a pig.”

            “Only for you, baby.”

            The brunette rolled her eyes as she drizzled the oil into the pan and fixed it behind the first skillet. “Do you ever think about anything other than sex, Butch?”

            “Hard to when you sport a get-up like that.” He raked his crystal-blue eyes hungrily over her curves, releasing a kaleidoscope of butterflies within the pit of Moira’s core.

            “I’m wearing the same vault suit I wear every day.” She dumped the ingredients from a larger bag, a stream of vibrant peppers and onions spilling across the counter freely.

            “And you look sexy as _fuck_ in that tight little jumpsuit.”

            A bright blush radiated across her defined cheekbones. “Oh, stop it, Butchy.”

            “I mean it, kitten. You’re without a doubt the most gorgeous thing on two gams in this sandbox.” He shot her that side smile that melted her heart every time. “And that’s the truth.”

            “You lookin’ in the mirror again, DeLoria?” She teased as she emptied the bags of rice into the boiling water, stirring the grains with an old wooden spoon.

            “’Fraid not, doll baby. Just the angel standin’ in front of me.”

            “Y’ better can it with all this sweet talk or else this dinner might have to be postponed.”

            “Promise?” His eyes lit up as bright as the lights above their heads.

            “Shut up, DeLoria, and let me cook.”

            The next twenty minutes were filled with delicious odors, the sizzling of the cast iron skillets and flirty banter between the teens. It wasn’t often that anyone in the vault cooked other than Lewis Helms, the “vault chef” as he preferred to be known as. Moira had helped Lewis prep meals a few times in her life but had never attempted to cook by herself. _It can’t be that hard,_ she had told herself when the idea first popped into her head earlier that afternoon, as her mind had wandered during Mr. Brotch’s lecture about pre-war woodworking. Plus, it could be fun. _Especially_ if Butch properly thanked her for her efforts after the meal…

            Once the ingredients were prepared and properly mixed all that was left to do was wait. Moira swayed towards the counter space across from her lover with a seductive twitch of her plump red lips. She leaned lazily over the countertop and fluttered her hazel-nut eyes in his direction. “So, what are the plans after dinner?”

            Butch chuckled deep within his broad chest, leaning in his stool and lacing his fingers with her own. He played with her callused digits idly and made her heart flutter. “Oh, I dunno… I was thinkin’ a romantic stroll through the atrium, maybe grab a blanket and do some cob-web gazin’, throw rotten tomatoes at Freddy Gomez’s apartment…”

            “Butch…” she scoffed.

            “Or maybe…” He inched forward until his lips were a breath away from her own, his eyelids falling slightly as his gaze drifted towards her mouth. “We could have some dessert.”

            Moira licked her lips at the innuendo, his breath ghosting over her skin and making her shiver. “I wasn’t plannin’ on bakin’ a pie tonight.”

            “I wasn’t talkin’ about pie, baby,” His hand caressed the nape of her neck as he closed the distance, the tip of his nose brushing against hers as their lips met in a fiery passion that made her knees buckle every time. Their tongues tangled together in a sea of moans, desire and Butch’s cologne, both completely lost in the other’s ecstasy. Butch sucked gently on her bottom lip, making her gasp against his mouth and granting her lover more room to push his tongue farther inside. He pulled away slightly to bend his head the other way, devouring her lips and running his hand through her hair. She mewled against him, reveling in the hot and heavy atmosphere building around their bodies. When her hand found the firm slope of his neck he growled hungrily, pulling her closer yet and deepening the kiss. Moira could almost picture the delicious bulge in his vault blue jeans, falling apart at the mere thought of feeling his excitement against her palm-

            The shrill screech of an alarm broke up the moment. Moira’s head snapped around and was suddenly very aware of the thick odor of burnt grain and oil wafting through the small space.

“Fuckin’ hell-“ She pushed herself from the counter and pounced for the skillets, dark grey smoke rising towards the metal ceiling in large clouds. In a matter of seconds she dropped the appliances into the industrial-sized sink and released cold water from the nozzle onto the pans.

            A string of curses fell from her lips as she snatched a towel to break up the smoke in the air. After a few minutes of waving the fabric around the alarm finally quieted, Moira’s ears still ringing from the sharp tones of the device.

            “Damn,” Butch had risen during the fiasco, standing at the break of the counter with wide eyes. Moira threw the towel back onto the bar and turned towards the sink to inspect the damage. The rice was kettle black, the peppers and onions a dark shade of crimson and almost blended into the skillets. She grabbed the wooden spoon and made an attempt to scrape out the hardened rice to no avail. The peppers and onions came off easily, soft and tender from the flood of water pooling over the pan. Moira sighed in frustration and shook her head.

            “Guess it _is_ harder than it looks.” She muttered, using a bit of dish soap on the empty skillet and scrubbing with a peach colored sponge.

            “Hey, LaRee?” His voice was closer than before.

            “What, DeLoria?” She didn’t turn around and continued to grind at the saucepan.

            “I love you a shit ton and all, but please stop tryin’ to make me dinner. You suck.”

            Moira stopped scrubbing and glared at him over her shoulder. She wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin right off of his face.

            “Fuck off,” her fingers found a fistful of soapy peppers and grime and tossed them at the greaser, coating his white t-shirt and the side of his cheek. He gasped in disgust, wiping away the grease from his face and staring at the muck in his palm, then back up to Moira’ face with dark eyes. Moira had to bite her lip to stifle her giggles.

            “Y’think you’re funny, huh?” He moved towards her and she shrieked, dropping the pan and sponge in the sink and grabbing another handful of food. He boxed her into the counter with his body and turned her to face him with one arm around her waist to constrain her from moving. He reached behind her wriggling form into the sink and smothered her face with the spoils, her jerks and spasms no match for Butch’s strength. He went to reach for another handful when Moira pulled open the collar of his tee and smeared the waste over his toned chest, using the moment to wriggle free of his hold. Her high-pitched shrills echoed loudly off the walls as she retreated behind the counter in defense.

            “You’re a real piece of work, y’know that, LaRee?” He stalked around the bar, watching the crown of Moira’s head bob up and down as she moved across the floor and towards the door with her back to him. He grinned as he tip-toed behind her and pounced on her body, hoisting her from the floor and over his shoulder. Her squeals only grew in volume, Butch unable to conceal the grin splitting his face. “You’re gonna pay for that one, doll baby-“

            “What the _hell_ is going on in here?” The Overseer’s voice boomed over the laughter, the room falling silent as Butch stared at the man like a deer in headlights. He loosened his hold and let Moira’s frame slide over the front of his body until her feet hit the floor. Moira attempting to smooth out her matted and wild locks. She cleared her throat and threw him her best innocent smile.

            “Mr. Almodovar, good evening!” She pitched her voice higher by almost an octave. “We were just cooking some dinner-“

            “That’s not what it looks like, Ms. Maines.” He eyed the black grime coating the kitchen and their bodies. “Looks like horseplay to me.”

            “Well, we were cookin’, till’ Chef Boyardee here burnt the grub.” Butch interjected, trying to diffuse the situation with the sarcastic and snarky demeanor he slapped on for everyone in the vault except for Moira. “Then again, I don’t think it woulda’ been that good anyway-“

            “I don’t _care_ how it happened.” The Overseer pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger and sighed. “I _care_ that your screams and giggles are waking up _the entire vault._ And it’s _late._ Not only that, but look at this mess.” He kicked a glob of peppers with his boot towards the couple.

            “We are terribly sorry, Mr. Almodovar. It won’t happen again.” Moira assured him with a firm nod.

            “It better not. Else I’ll be forced to inform your parents of your childish behavior.” He turned towards the door before looking back at the duo. “I want this kitchen spotless before you leave. And if I see you both wandering the halls at all tonight I _will_ enforce a proper punishment. Understood?”

            “Loud and clear, sir.” Butch saluted the Overseer in a mock-respect as the vault leader stormed through the entryway and disappeared behind the closing door.

            When the hatch sealed Moira let out a snort, erupting into a fit of poorly stifled laughter. Butch’s lips twitched as his girl leaned into him, her knees growing weak from her hysterics erupting from her slender frame. He soon followed suit, both snorting and quaffing at the evening’s events.

            “Jesus Christ,” Moira sputtered in between gasps, pressing her blackened face into his stained tee. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “That _would_ happen to us.”

            “Maybe if y’weren’t so fuckin’ _loud,”_ Butch teased, pinching her sides to make her squeal into his shirt. “See? You’re wakin’ the whole vault up.”

            She pulled away and pushed him in the chest, shaking her head at him. “Shut up, dumbass. We got a lot of work to do.” She moved past him and grabbed a tattered mop and bucket from under the counter, pushing the supplies into his arms and moving back towards the sink.

            “You gonna pay me for helpin’ ya clean your mess?” He wagged his eyebrows at her. “I mean, you still owe me dessert.”

            Moira flipped on the faucet, resuming her assault against the pan with the sponge. “Guess I do have some late-night paperwork I should finish in the clinic…” She shot him with a wink.

            Butch had never cleaned so fast in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> I know they didn't have Chef Boyardee in the Fallout universe but just humor me on this one. The next one I write for them will be smut and I will not be sorry. Also this is probably garbage but I just really wanted to post something with Butch and Moira because they are my faves.


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